Three Way Fork
by Bokystroki
Summary: One-shots depicting all three of the heros that made history in Thedas. Multiple genders, multiple stories, multiple well - stuff. Rated M for some chapters.
1. Bird Watching

**Bird Watching**

'Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.'

-Lao Tzu

* * *

In hindsight, Hawke should've known better.

Chest to chest, their angry staring contest caused every passer by to give them a wide birth completely, as their breaths mingled together hotly in the rain. For the most part, Skyhold was very quiet on the dull, damp day. If anything, everyone was waiting to see what verdict the Inquisitor would give the Grey Wardens, which made it a perfect distraction for Hawke to simply slip away. Well, almost. She just barely made it to the front gates before she was grabbed and steered away from the exit.

"You really thought you could escape me?"

"…That's an awkward way to say hello."

His snarl made her wince. 'Little wolf' was definitely not in the mood for her usual, jeering demeanor. His vermilion eyes weren't the usual shade of green that reminded her of spring and emeralds and fabrics that were pretty and soft on her skin. No, this green was like the rift - or the Maker foresaken Fade. Anger and fear and pain. With a hard swallow, she rephrased her answer:

"No."

"So, I suppose you just expected to save all of Fereldan without me noticing."

Okay, perhaps she should have at the least, left a note before taking off.

"Well, you know me – I do enjoy my dramatic flair."

It felt like a battle. Her flight or fight response was sending all sorts of crazy signals in her mind and body, though she couldn't get herself to move as their noses practically touched. The distant, ominous sound of low, deep bells signaled that the prisoner was coming through the gates, though neither of them took notice. More important judgments were at hand.

The wolf wasn't here to play games. He kept stalking closer, though the usually cocky, confident bird kept taking fleeting steps backwards, as if she was about to take flight – and leave.

Leave.

_Again._

No, that is not an option.

With a little gasp, the damned bird was cornered into the crevice of the castle wall, her head lightly bouncing off the stones. Who put that there? Why didn't she even notice the wall was behind her?

(Probably has to do with the elf that looks like he wishes to eat her.)

His palm flattened against the stone, fingers splayed right beside her head as he loomed over her frame. So many things that were left unsaid, so many emotions and turmoil going within his mind that he didn't even know where to begin or end.

"Why didn't you write?"

"I forgot, I s'pose."

He bit his tongue, not wishing to say the wrong thing and cause her to slip away. Right at the moment, he had her where he wanted her, caging her to the wall with his other hand upon her hip.

"You're lying."

Hawke pursed her lips, glaring up at him with distaste. Of course she was bloody lying. Wriggling, she tried to make her position a bit more comfortable. (It didn't work.)

"I meant it y'know, when I said it was over."

"You almost died – going into the fade."

Hawke instantly tried to shove him off, though she was well in place due to his pinnacle height and leverage difference. The wolf wasn't letting her go that easy, not matter how much she fluttered.

"Who told you tha-"

"Varric."

"He sodding wrote to you didn't-"

"Yes."

They were too close, far too close.

"Is that why you're here then? To lecture me?"

Dipping his head down – he obstructed his face. Rain droplets rolling off his jaw and chin.

"No."

She instead, looked up at the gloomy sky. They both had been in far too much in the last decade. She had her glory, her fame. Taking in the walls around her, Hawke knew that, accepted it. She didn't have to help, she's already helped, and ruined enough. His arms slithered around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug which caused her to wail loudly, before collapsing her head onto his shoulder. How many years did she let the pressure build up? Wanting to please everyone – to help everyone? To be in charge of fate?

The torch was no longer hers, and she almost lost all that she had just by wanting to let her flame burn brighter than another for one last time.

"I didn't mean it Fenris, I didn't want-"

She shivered, the rain soaking them both completely. Her hair was completely flat and smushed up in his face, as her hands rain through his own.

"I know."

They just stood there, holding each other as the thunder rolled in, her loud confessions being masked by the vibrations. His arms were cramping, and his legs were on fire for standing too long as she had snot pouring out of her nose, and cheeks aggressively puffy and red. Many people seemed to be pouring out of the main hall now, whispering new gossip about the trail as guards tried to get everyone back in order. A particular dwarf seemed to poke his head from under the ground, looking at them both with a sly, knowing smile which made both the Wolf and the Bird laugh at their foolishness - though, neither of them would have it any other way.

"Let's just go home." Fenris murmured into her hair, pulling up her hood.

Hawke nodded simply, clutching onto his hand as if she was a child as she wiped her nose with her sleeve. 


	2. The Kings Gambit

**The Kings Gambit**

'You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.'

-Oscar Wilde

* * *

Alistair is about to throw up.

Yep. It's going to happen. The gurgling goopy goodness in his tummy is making him feel entirely nauseous – the stupid golden face mask that he has to wear makes the back of his ears all itchy, and for goodness sake if someone comes up to talk in riddles with him one more time, he's going to to positively die. Or pass gas, he can't decide which.

It was no secret that Alistair was shit at 'the game'. Talking in questions and vague snippets was not his forte. The nobles don't even have witty puns, the nerve of them. So, instead he would just nod, and smile, and act like a good little king should – dancing when asked, sitting when appropriate, and eating whatever someone hands him to not hurt their feelings. (Maker, that was a really, really bad idea.)

Though, it was only the first night of Satinalia, and he might as well try to get it together so that he could last for the next six nights. However, the gurgling in his stomach suddenly made him rethink even being on the dance floor.

Yet, he couldn't tear himself away from the very uh, endowed noble woman, her pudgy cheeks up against his temple and hands around him like a damned iron-maiden. She kept wanting to dance faster as her snarling, high-pitched voice gave him a headache. Alistair's mind honestly, was far far away in la-la land as he mechanically moved until finally, she said the smartest thing that could ever come out of her piggy mouth:

"So, your majesty - where is your beautiful wife?"

Alistair had gently tapped her hand so that she would stop holding him so tight, not wishing to make comment and possibly hurt her feelings as he smiled softly, his heart dropping into the acid that was throwing its own party in his belly.

"Ah she's away doing some research, I'm afraid."

The noble woman fluttered her eyelashes as she pouted behind her mask, "Oh you poor dear, you must be so lonely without her here tonight."

Alistair winced, hoping that the mask covered his facial movements as he gently turned with her, "Ah well – we write one another, so I'm quite content."

"Well, if you ever…not feel content, I assure you that I could be pleasant company." The woman cooed, pursing her lips in a way that reminded Alistair of the old ladies that loved to plant kisses on his cheeks when he was a child. Disgusting.

A gentle tap on his shoulder managed to get his attention, thankfully distracting him from such an awkward conversation, "Excuse me a moment."

The noble woman frowned, letting out a huff of breath as Alistair had turned, noticing the petite woman behind him.

The woman didn't look like anyone special, if anything – her plain brown dress and simple, silver mask made her look as if she actually was one of the servants that got all dressed up just for the sake of a celebration, though Alistair didn't really know much about fashion to make much judgments anyway. Her sparkly green eyes sure were pretty though – and her hair seemed to be hidden by that funny…fabric thing that the Orlesian women would wear.

Clearing her throat, the girl held up her hand, "May I cut in?"

"Oh, yeah sure – I mean, of course m'lady."

The woman smiled brightly, which made Alistair hold down the chunky stuff in his throat. Not because it made him sick, but it reminding him too much of someone else, which made his heart pang just a little bit more.

The woman didn't talk as she danced, just merely continued to sway and turn while looking directly into his eyes, causing Alistair to feel uncomfortable. Was he supposed to say something? Do a little jig? Tell a joke?

"So, I take it you're not Orlesian…Ah, you don't have the accent. Though you have the mask of one.." he stated, feeling rather proud of himself to start off the conversation. Every noble loved to be asked such things, they could go on for hours about where they're from.

"Well aren't you perceptive?"

Alistair blinked, waiting a moment as if she should say something else – anything else, yet the snickering remark was the only reply he got out of her, causing him to fumble.

"I – well, I s'pose I can be, when I want to. Like, with the blight – I can tell you are no darkspawn, so that's something!"

"I suppose it is, your majesty."

_Maker's Breath._

"Ah – yes. It is." He continued, with more awkward dancing, "So, what is your name then, m'lady?"

The woman did not reply, just continued to look into his eyes, her facial features softening.

"Ah, no name then – I see. That's an unusual one, I've never heard of such an exotic pronunciation."

Alistair was sick of this staring game, rolling his eyes as his stomach knotted. It was enough for him for one day, and having some woman at his little soiree poking at him hurt his confidence a little more than he'd like to admit. Enough women have been looking at him up and down, waiting to make their move knowing full well that the queen was missing in action, and if anything, it made him want to just shove everyone out so that he could sleep until his wife was back.

"Perhaps," the woman finally spoke, after a moment, "I can teach you then?"

"Hm?" He questioned, being pulled out of his thoughts as the woman grabbed the little tassle things on his shoulders and getting on her tip-toes.

Gently, her lips pressed against his, causing his back to instantly straighten as his eyes widened. His heart went into full panic mode as he did the only thing he could think of, which is shove his hand into the woman's face and pry her off of his very own.

"Madam! I am happily married –"

The woman squinted at him, his hand still pressed against her mouth and nose. Without hesitation, she licked his palm.

Reeling back Alistair removed his hand, flailing it into the air to get the saliva off with disdain.

"Oh _bloody hell!_"

Every noble was looking now, curious at such a display.

The woman smiled, covering her mouth with her hand before breaking out into full on laughter, her rib cage and shoulders shaking as Alistair looked at her angrily.

"What in the Maker is so funny? You _licked_ me!"

Shaking her head, the woman continued her little fits of giggles, waving her hand as if to dismiss whatever he was saying.

"I demand to know why you're laugh- and don't wave your hand at _me_!" He grunted, stopping his foot like a child. Though something by the way the woman fidgeted just made sense in his muddled mind, causing him to question her eyes, and smile, and….

Oh…._Oh Andraste…_

He wasn't sure if it was the nervousness, excitement, or even perhaps – way too many mini cucumber sandwiches, but his stomach could no longer contain itself as the King keeled over, vomiting right beside the woman in a dramatic wretch that sounded just as painful as it looked, which instantly caused the woman to stop laughing, and hold Alistair's arm in worry.

"Hello dear…." Alistair gurgled, before letting out another fit of bile.

Rubbing his back, the woman pulled off her mask and continued to hold his arm protectively. As everyone else around them seemed to scream or gasp in horror, moving off the marble floor to be anywhere that wasn't around the king.

"I missed you too." The woman snickered, hugging him from behind and giving Alistair a quick kiss on the cheek before moving him away from the dance floor. "I suggest we leave before people start comparing you to the duke of-"

Alistair groaned loudly, leaning against his wife.

"As if me being king wasn't awkward already."


End file.
